


Veils

by Crollalanza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the night before Petunia Evans' wedding. As she stares at herself in the mirror, she is satisfied with her appearance. The dress is perfect, cleverly cut to give her curves, and she looks like a dream. Yes, the dress is perfection ... but what of the veil?</p>
<p>She has promised Vernon and his formidable mother that she will wear the Dursley veil. It is an antique. A family heirloom. </p>
<p>It is hideous. </p>
<p>What she needs is a miracle to rid her of the ugly thing ... or perhaps a touch of magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veils

Petunia Evans stood in front of the mirror. Twisting around, she examined herself from every angle. There was no doubting the beauty of the ivory silk dress. The cleverness of its cut gave her curves where she had none, and the long train with its elaborate design made her feel like a princess.   
  
Yes, her dress was perfection. She would walk down that aisle tomorrow and be a perfect English rose of a bride.   
  
She reached over to the old yellowing box on her bed, intending to open it, but her hand stayed before she could lift off the lid. Biting her lip, Petunia sat on the edge of the bed. She could feel a lump form in her throat, but swallowing hard she shook her head.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Petunia,” she chided herself. “It’s not at all horrible, and it  _is_ an heirloom.”  
  
Then she firmly took hold of the lid, opened the box, and pulled out her veil. With determination, she placed it on top of her head and faced the mirror. It was Vernon’s grandmother’s veil. He wanted her to wear it, and she wanted to please him, but there was no denying the fact that the heavy antique lace was ugly.  
  
“Oh!” she wailed. “It completely covers my hair. I can’t wear it. I WON’T!”  
  
For Petunia’s hair was by far her best feature. Thick, glossy and blonde, it hung like a rippling silk curtain to just above her waist. She snatched off the veil and threw it to the floor, praying that it would somehow disappear, or rip into a thousand pieces, and then she wouldn’t have to wear the awful thing. She sniffed. But if it did rip, then she wouldn’t have a veil to wear at all for the wedding was tomorrow. She could hardly be a bride without a veil. It would not be proper. It would not be seemly. It would not be  _normal._ Sighing, she picked up the veil and placed it carefully back in the box. She would have to wear it; she’d left it far too late to find an alternative.   
  
“Petunia,” called her mother, Dahlia, from downstairs. “They’re here.”  
  
Petunia groaned. ‘They’ were Vernon and his mother, coming over to finalise placement settings. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Vernon – and she got on very well with his mother, Edna – but there was always the chance that  _her_  mother would let something slip and that would never do. Hastily, she slipped out of her dress, hung it up on the door of her wardrobe, pulled on her knee-length cotton skirt and ran down the stairs as she fastened up the buttons on her long sleeved blouse.  
  
Edna Dursley was not sitting in the best armchair as Petunia entered the room. Instead, she was standing by the hearth with Vernon, her eyes scanning the room. Petunia knew she was looking for the incriminating signs of dust and prayed that her mother had cleaned properly that morning. Surreptitiously, she sniffed the air and was relieved when the faint scent of beeswax reached her nostrils. Her eyes followed Edna’s, noting with pleasure that her mother had also cut some fresh flowers from the garden, and had brought out the best china for them all to drink from.   
  
A cough from Vernon snapped Petunia’s attention away from Edna. She smiled at him and walked over to receive a dutiful kiss on her cheek.   
  
“It’s supposed to be bad luck to see the groom the night before the wedding,” her father, Geoffrey, remarked.   
  
Petunia glared at him, but it was Vernon who answered, “Utter piffle!” he declared. “Superstitious nonsense. Mother and I don’t believe in rubbish like that, do we?”  
  
Edna Dursley pursed her lips into a thin line (which was rather a feat as her lips were large and fat like her face) and nodded in agreement. As she turned to speak to her son, Edna’s attention was caught by something on the mantelpiece. She picked it up and stared at it. “Who is this?” she demanded imperiously.  
  
Petunia gasped as she recognised the face of her sister smiling out of the photograph.   
  
“That’s our Lily,” explained her father. “Petunia’s sister, Lily.” He looked across at Petunia, puzzled. “Hasn’t Tuney mentioned her?”  
  
“A sister? Petunia, you never mentioned a sister.” Edna’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she walked across to the coffee table where the seating plan was. “I don’t see her name on here,” she barked at Petunia’s father.   
  
“She can’t come,” Petunia said instantly before her dad could respond. “She’s at school – a special school.”  
  
“I see,” replied Edna Dursley thoughtfully. “A  _special_  school. Vernon, you didn’t tell me anything about this.”  
  
“Mother, I didn’t know,” Vernon spluttered. He turned to Petunia, hissing, “You said it was boarding school. What do you mean by special? Is she mental?”  
  
“NO!” Dahlia Evans soothed and started laughing. “Not that sort of special. Lily has a talent, that’s all. She’s a –”  
  
“Show off!” interrupted Petunia. She gulped, trying to think up a cover story. “She wants to go on the stage.”  
  
Edna’s eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared under her bouffant hair. Obviously, an actress was not a suitable career for a girl, but before she could think up a withering reply, they all heard the sound of a key in the door. A girl with long red hair escaping from a crocheted hat, burst into the room.   
  
“Mum, Dad,” she said excitedly. “Guess what? Professor Dumbledore said I could come home especially for the wedding.” She stopped for breath, smiling widely. “I’ve brought a guest. You don’t mind, do you, Tuney?”  
  
In horror, Petunia turned to see a young man lounging against the doorframe. He was taller than Lily with a wiry build, glasses and messy black hair. He watched Lily intently, clearly captivated.   
  
A sudden pain shot through Petunia. Vernon never looked at her like that.   
  
“Ooh, where are my manners?” said Lily. She took the young man’s hand and pulled him into the room. “This is James, everyone. He’s at my school.” She smiled fondly at him, as he twisted his fingers in hers. “James, this is my mum and dad.” He grinned at them, shook hands with Geoffrey, and kissed Dahlia on the cheek.   
  
“It’s lovely to meet you, James,” Dahlia declared warmly. “Lily has told us so much about you.”  
  
“Has she?” He sounded surprised but also very pleased.  
  
“Mmm, aren’t you the Head Boy?” asked Geoffrey, and winked slightly. “That must be a very responsible position.”  
  
James blushed slightly as Lily smothered a laugh; then they turned to face the three by the hearth. “James, this is my sister, Petunia.” He leant forward as if to give her a kiss, but Petunia’s frosty stare must have put him off because he flinched and pulled away.   
  
Petunia inclined her head slightly and turned to Vernon. She tucked her arm in his, and although he seemed surprised at the gesture, he didn’t pull away. “This is my fiance, Vernon Dursley, and his mother.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you,” James said politely. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. This is all quite different for me. I’ve never been to a wedding ... well, not a Muggle- OW!” He stopped abruptly and Petunia saw Lily removing her foot from his toes. James mouthed the word sorry to her and hopped away to sit on the sofa next to Dahlia.   
  
“What kind of a person has never been to a wedding?” muttered Vernon to Petunia and his mother. He peered at James, obviously disapproving of his messy hair, green jumper with holes in it, and red socks.   
  
“An actor,” stated Edna witheringly. “They probably don’t bother with marriage, preferring to live in sin. He’s obviously a _bohemian._ ” The word hung in the air as an obvious insult.   
  
Petunia glared at Lily, who was trying to keep a straight face, took her arm and pulled her to one side. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Lily stepped back. “I’m your sister, Tuney. Of course I want to be at your wedding.” She stared at her sister, sighing wearily. “Don’t worry; we won’t mention anything about magic. James is just excited, that’s all. He doesn’t know any Muggles.” She giggled. “I swear that’s the only reason he likes me.”  
  
Petunia considered her. She didn’t want Lily and her freak of a boyfriend at her wedding, but to make a scene now, would probably only provoke Lily’s temper. She shuddered as she remembered the incident with the Vicar who had called round to discuss Petunia’s confirmation, and had rebuked Lily for never attending church. Despite reassurances from Petunia that she had no idea how the frogspawn had appeared in the teapot, the Vicar had not been convinced, and had never returned to the Evans’ house.  
  
“You can stay,” she hissed, “but I’ve told Vernon and Edna that you want to be an actress, which is why you’re away at school.” She turned her head and looked sharply at James who was laughing at something her father was saying. Vernon had never enjoyed that camaraderie with her parents. “Make sure you keep him under control.”  
  
Lily laughed out loud. “He’s not a dog, Tuney – which reminds me. . .” Still laughing, she left the room returning shortly with a big, black dog that she held by the scruff of its neck.  
  
“Um, we’ve acquired this dog and couldn’t leave him at school. He pines without James, you see. So, is it all right if he beds down here with us?”  
  
The dog walked slowly over to James, who patted its head. Then it turned and walked over to Petunia. It sat in front of her, panted and raised one large paw.   
  
Dumbfounded, Petunia touched its paw. It was muddy and left her hand covered in dirt. “This animal is filthy, Lily. You can’t possibly expect to leave it in here with the presents and everything.” She sniffed the air. “Plus it smells.”  
  
To her surprise, the dog growled. Lily placed a placatory hand on its head. “We’ll make sure Padfoot has a bath, won’t we, James.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” James agreed. “He’s pretty well behaved for a dog. I just don’t want to leave him chained up outside.”  
  
“He could sleep in Lily’s room,” suggested Dahlia. “That’s nowhere near the presents.”  
  
The dog wagged its tail and barked enthusiastically at this suggestion as if it understood every word, but James stood up suddenly, upsetting the best china teapot. “No, out of the question,” he yelped. “I’m not having Si - er- Padfoot share with Lily. She’s ... uh ... allergic.”   
  
Petunia caught the amused expression on Lily’s face and her eyes narrowed. She knew they were up to something.   
  
“He could sleep in that tent thing you have in the garden,” James offered. “In fact, I’ll stay with him and we’ll both sleep out there. That’ll save you having to make up an extra bed for me, Mrs Evans.”  
  
“Call me Dahlia,” Petunia’s mother said warmly. Righting the teapot on the table, she started to pour more tea for him.   
  
Petunia glared at her mother. It had taken at least six meetings before her mother had asked Vernon to call her by her first name. “That ‘tent thing’,” she said coldly, “is the marquee and it has all the tables for tomorrow set out in it. We are supposed to be finalising the placements tonight and there is no way in the world that I’m having that smelly creature sleeping there tonight.”  
  
“James doesn’t smell that bad, does he?” retorted Lily. Catching James’ eye, she started giggling again.   
  
Petunia scowled at her sister. “I said you could stay,” she hissed, “but only if you behave.”  
  
Lily straightened her face and cast her eyes to the ground. “Sorry,” she mumbled, but although she sounded contrite, Petunia was sure her shoulders were still shaking with laughter.   
  
 _I won’t have her here,_ she thought.  _Not her or her boyfriend. It’s MY day and I won’t have her spoiling things._ She turned away from Lily and started talking loudly to Edna about the sherry they would be serving at the reception. She would deal with Lily later that night.   
  


***

  
  
At ten-thirty, when Vernon and his mother had long since left, and the Potter boy and his dog had been allocated a camp bed in Geoffrey’s study, Petunia tied her dressing gown tight around her waist and pushed open the door to Lily’s room.   
  
“I want to speak to you,” she began.   
  
Lily looked up at the sound of her voice. She was sitting at her dressing table, wearing an old red and gold t-shirt, and plaiting her hair. She smiled at Petunia. “Oh, I am pleased to see you, Tuney. I brought you a present, but didn’t want to show you in front of Vernon.”  
  
Petunia opened her mouth ready to start her argument as to why Lily had to leave, but she was forestalled by Lily handing her a box.   
  
“Open it,” Lily said excitedly.  
  
Petunia looked at the box dubiously. Knowing Lily as well as she did, she had no doubt it contained something horrible, like frogs or toads. Still it would give her just the excuse she needed to ban her from the wedding. Hesitantly, she took off the lid, prepared for something foul-smelling to jump out at her. However, she gasped when she opened the lid and peeled back the layers of tissue paper. Inside was a veil, a diaphanous dream of a veil. It looked as though it had been spun from moonbeams. It seemed to dance beneath Petunia’s fingers.  
  
“Lily,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
Lily laughed softly. Taking the veil from Petunia’s hands, she sat her down in front of the mirror and pinned it in place. It was so light, so translucent, that her hair seemed to shine through it.   
  
“Wow!” murmured Lily. “You look gorgeous, Tuney.”  
  
Petunia stared at herself in the mirror. “It’s lovely,” she whispered and then bit her lip. “But I can’t wear it. I promised Vernon I’d wear his grandmother’s veil.”  
  
“Oh,” said Lily forlornly. Slowly, she removed the pins from Petunia’s hair, and carefully folded the veil back in the box.  
  
Petunia turned around and stared at Lily. She sounded sad and her green eyes were glimmering as if she were about to cry. She felt a lump in her throat that intensified as she watched Lily replace the lid on the box. “I promised Vernon,” she whispered.   
  
Lily smiled wanly. “Well, if you promised him...” She sniffed. “Do you remember when we were little girls talking about our weddings?” She chuckled. “We were both going to marry handsome princes, and wear our hair long to the waist. I was going to carry a bouquet of lilies.”  
  
Petunia snorted. “I’m not carrying petunias tomorrow; they don’t look right at all. I have an arrangement of pink and white roses.”  
  
“Much more suitable,” Lily agreed. She picked up the box containing the veil and hugged it to her chest. “You don’t want us here, do you?”  
  
Petunia gazed at her sister for a long time. Somewhere in her mind, she could see them both as girls running through the fields, licking ice cream on the beach and darting around under trees in the autumn trying to catch the leaves as they fell. Wonderful carefree days of childhood before that boy appeared. Before her sister was lost to her. “I just want my day to be normal, Lily. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” Lily replied sadly. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. I’ll make some excuse to Mum and Dad.” She traced a pattern on the box lid with her finger. “If I get back early, then I might get my money back.”   
  
“I’d much rather wear this one,” Petunia blurted out. “The Dursley veil is so ugly.”   
  
“Then wear this!” Lily exclaimed.   
  
“I can’t! I promised him... and Edna.”   
  
She got up from the chair and walked to the door. “About tomorrow,” she said, her hand on the door handle. “You’re welcome to stay, Lily, just ... just keep that dog under control.”  
  
Was she imagining the hint of mischief in her sister’s eyes? She stared at her, wondering if she’d regret her decision, but Lily stared back with unwavering sincerity and replied, “Thank you, Tuney. I promise you Padfoot will do exactly as I tell him.” She smiled lopsidedly. “James is another matter, but I’ll do my best.”  
  


***

  
  
Her mother had promised her breakfast in bed, but Petunia got up long before her parents were awake. Relishing the early morning and unable to sleep, she made herself a cup of tea and took it into the lounge to drink. Looking out of the French windows, she could see the marquee with the tables set out. At three o’clock, when her and Vernon arrived back from the church and greeted their guests, the tables would be decked with white linen tablecloths, silver cutlery and a centrepiece of pink and white carnations. Her mother had suggested freesias and sweet peas for their scent, but Edna’s mouth had thinned. Freesias and sweet peas were not wedding flowers. Carnations were far more suitable, she’d declared and Petunia had agreed. Carnations were normal. Dahlia had smiled a touch sadly, but nodded her head and called the local florist to enquire about the prices for carnations.   
  
A sudden movement caught Petunia’s attention. In shock, she nearly dropped her tea, for there in the marquee, sitting on one of the tables, was a man wearing very scruffy clothes. In the gloom of the early morning, she couldn’t quite make him out, except to see that he had dark, shoulder length hair and was smoking a cigarette.   
  
She screamed.  
  
Startled, the man looked across at her, and she saw he wasn’t that old for a tramp – probably no more than twenty and maybe younger. He held her gaze, slowly took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled and then smiled lazily at her.  
  
Petunia screamed again. Someone came pounding through the door. Looking round, she realised it was James.   
  
“There’s a man,” she gibbered and pointed through the French windows. “A man sitting in my marquee, on my top table,  _smoking._ ”  
  
“Leave it to me,” said James grimly. He strode to the doors, but then paused as he caught sight of the man. “You stay in the house, Petunia. I’ll make sure he disappears.” His voice shook slightly as if he were nervous ... or laughing. But he charged out into the garden and, as she peered through the window, she saw the man disappear with James running after him.   
  
Ten minutes later, James returned. “Didn’t catch him, I’m afraid, but I don’t think he’ll return. I must have scared him off.”  
  
“Thank you,” she replied faintly and sat on the sofa.  
  
James took the armchair opposite. “I can hang around a bit, if you want, in case he comes back, or would you rather I left you alone?”  
  
She swallowed. James’ presence in the room unnerved her. Wearing an old red shirt and what looked like shorts, he hadn’t bothered putting on a dressing gown. Trying not to look at his legs, she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her and thanked the Lord that she was wearing a sensible nightgown with buttons done up right to the neck. “I will be fine, thank you, James. You may go back to bed. I’d rather be alone.”  
  
She looked up as the door opened and the black dog nosed his way through. Sniffing at James, it meandered over to Petunia and then lay down by her feet.   
  
“I think my dog has taken a fancy to you, Petunia,” James quipped. “I’ll leave him here to guard you, if you like.”  
  
She pondered the dog as it lay on the floor, its head resting on its front paws. “He has a strange name,” she mused. “Why Padfoot?”  
  
James’ eyes lit up in amusement. “A padfoot is a thief and a vagabond. This dog steals chocolate as soon as it sees it. He’s a greedy git.”  
  
The dog, Padfoot, growled, but didn’t bare its teeth. James laughed. “I’ll leave you to it, Petunia. Come on, Padfoot, let’s get back to sleep.”  
  
At his command, the dog got up, shook himself and, to her surprise, licked her hand. She shuddered but couldn’t stop herself from patting its head, staring at it as she did so. “Your dog has unusual eyes,” she mused. “They’re grey.”  
  
“Oh ... uh ... yeah. He’s an unusual dog, all right.” He paused before whistling to the dog to follow him out of the door. “One thing, Petunia.” She looked up. “I just wanted to say thank you for letting me come to the wedding. Lily’s told me you’re not ... uh ... comfortable with our world, but she wanted to be here, so ... uh ... thanks, and I will behave, I promise.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said softly. James flashed a smile at her, and she found herself smiling back. Something inside was whispering to her, that this boy wasn’t at all like the Snape boy. This one was funny and kind and wouldn’t hate her for being different. She opened her mouth, deciding to ask him to stay with her, so she could talk to him and find out more about her sister’s world, but as she started to speak, James’ attention was caught by the sound of feather-soft steps padding down the stairs. Through the crack in the door, Petunia saw Lily, her dark red hair tousled as she undid her plait, her dressing gown sliding off one shoulder. Then she looked at James, who was gazing only at Lily, no longer interested in Petunia, or anything to do with her world. She turned away, but not before she saw James take Lily in his arms and kiss her lengthily, despite his dog trying to worm its way between them.  
  


***

  
  
As the car drew up outside the church, Petunia clutched her father’s arm. He chuckled slightly and squeezed her hand as the chauffeur opened their door. “Ready for your grand entrance, Tuney?”   
  
She nodded and smiled gratefully at him as he took her hand and helped her out of the car. The day was warm for April, and she could see the sun high in the sky, scattering its rays to brighten her day. “How do I look?” she asked him.  
  
“Beautiful,” he declared.   
  
Standing in the church porch, Petunia peeped around the archway, scanning the congregation. She could see Vernon sitting next to his mother in the pew at the front, and her mother sitting with Lily and James on the other side. Petunia frowned slightly and wondered if James had appeared in any photographs yet. It would hardly be proper if he inveigled his way into the official photographs only to break up with Lily a month later.   
  
“Come on, Petunia,” called a voice and she turned to see Vernon’s sister, Marge, dressed in unbecoming peach frills, bearing down on her. “You haven’t arranged your veil yet.”  
  
Petunia lifted her hands and slowly draped the veil over her face. She felt claustrophobic, for although she could see through the lace, it wasn’t light like Lily’s veil, and didn’t glisten. It hung there, like a shroud. She bit her lip and felt a burning sensation in her eyes.  _At least no one will see my tears._  
  
“How do I look now, Dad?” she muttered.  
  
He turned to her and repeated his words of earlier, but it sounded automatic now, dutiful as if he were merely saying the right thing. Petunia closed her eyes. In thirty minutes, she’d be Mrs Vernon Dursley, and she’d never have to think about veils or weddings again. It would soon be over and she could relax. She could hear the organ playing and then, as Marge poked her head around the door and signalled to the Vicar, the music changed. As Petunia heard the opening strains of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, she stepped forwards, grasped her father’s arm and fixed a smile on her face.   
  
Suddenly, from nowhere, someone or something barged into her from behind. She screamed as she fell forwards into her father’s arms. His hands full, he could do nothing and Marge seemed frozen to the spot. Through the veil, Petunia could make out the figure of a man with shoulder-length hair, smelling of musk and cigarette smoke. His hand grabbed at her veil as he wrenched it off her head, and then he ran away, laughing, across the path and through the gravestones, holding the veil up high, so it flittered in the breeze.   
  
“MY VEIL!” Petunia screeched, not frightened at all, but suddenly very angry. “Stop. Thief!”  
  
Her cries alerted the congregation, and she could see Vernon striding up the aisle, but before he could reach her (and it  _would_  be bad luck if he saw her now) Lily and James ran towards her.   
  
“Someone’s stolen my veil,” Petunia moaned. “It was that man, James. The one who was in the marquee this morning. He must have followed me here.”  
  
“How ... um ... odd,” Lily said, her eyes wide in a show of astonishment.  
  
Petunia stared at her, not fooled by her expression, but now was not the time to cause a scene. “I need a veil,” she said in a low voice.”I am about to get married and I cannot walk into that church with my head uncovered. If you know anything about this, Lily, then I want you to put this right.”  
  
“Leave it with me,” Lily replied. She whispered something to James, and they both disappeared around the side of the church. Petunia thought she heard a sharp crack, like a branch breaking and wondered if they’d caught the stranger.   
  
“What is going on?” she heard Vernon bluster from inside the church. Her father frowned slightly, but walked towards the entrance to declare there was a minor hold up, but things would be progressing shortly. She didn’t hear any more from Vernon or his mother, so Petunia assumed they’d walked back to their pew.   
  
Another sharp crack made her jump, and looking in the direction Lily had gone, Petunia wasn’t surprised to see both her and James reappearing. They were giggling about something, and Petunia wanted to shout at them both to stop being so irresponsible, but then she stopped. In Lily’s hands was a white box, the box that held the veil. Not the ugly thick Dursley heirloom, but the delicate, iridescent veil spun with spider web intricacy.   
  
“Here you are, Tuney,” Lily whispered. “The perfect veil for the perfect bride.”  
  
“But what will Vernon say?”  
  
“He can’t complain if some random nutter followed you here and took a fancy to your headgear, can he?” Lily asked reasonably. “And you did ask me to put this right.”  
  
“Random nutter?” Petunia asked, arching one eyebrow in disbelief.  
  
“Petunia,” called Marge, who was shuffling uncomfortably in the sun now. The peach frills not conducive to the unseasonable weather, she had started to sweat rather copiously under her armpits.”Just put the blooming thing on and let’s get moving.”  
  
Petunia pursed her lips, rather annoyed at Marge’s tone. She was the bride. It was her day, and all brides had to look their best. She turned to Lily, and smiled, not a polite smile but a genuinely warm smile. “Would you help me put it on, Lily?”  
  
Lily opened the box, pulled out the veil and reverentially draped it over Petunia’s head. Then, just before she lifted it over her face, she leant forwards and kissed her softly on the cheek. “You look  _so_  beautiful, Tuney.”  
  
Petunia felt a tear slide down her cheek. She didn’t care if people could see her now; they would know, because she was also smiling, that she was crying with joy. “Thank you,” she whispered.   
  


***

  
  
If the day had ended outside the church, if that had been the last time she’d seen Lily and James, then perhaps she could have remembered Lily with love and fondness. But then, at the reception, after the fourth button on Vernon’s jacket burst open, something in Petunia snapped.   
  
“You said you’d behave!” she hissed at Lily as she dragged her outside, her face contorted with rage. “You promised me that you’d be normal. But you can’t help yourself, can you?”  
  
Lily looked askance. “We haven’t done anything,” she said indignantly. “Tuney, I promise, we’ve done no magic today.”  
  
“Except when we Apparated to get the veil,” James put in.  
  
“Not helpful, Potter,” Lily muttered. “Okay, we used magic to get your veil, but nothing else.”  
  
“You’re lying!” Petunia declared. “How else can you explain four buttons flying off Vernon’s jacket?”  
  
Lily’s eyes flashed angrily and Petunia saw her fingers twitching as if to find her wand, but James placed a placatory hand on her arm.   
  
“Perhaps your new husband has put on weight since the last fitting,” he suggested mildly.  
  
Petunia glared at him and at Lily, which set both of them off into fits of laughter. “I didn’t want you here, Lily,” she said coldly, “and I’d like you both to leave.” She turned away and started to walk back to the marquee where Vernon was impatiently waiting for her to cut the cake. “And take that smelly dog with you!”  
  


***

  
  
Petunia gazes at the veil in her hands. Its patterns still dance under her fingers, even after nineteen years of being shut firmly in the old white cardboard box. She should have got rid of it long ago, but something, some strange sentimentality, a peculiar bond to the sister she so despised, stopped her from destroying it.   
  
She can hear the sound of Vernon blustering as he tries to move a heavy suitcase down the stairs.  _Bump, bump, bump_  on the stairs, she hears the thuds in time with the thudding of her heart. They have to leave Privet Drive tonight. Harry has made it very clear that if they stay, they will die, and she believes him. After all, Lily, her wonderful magical sister, died and she had all the magic in the world.   
  
The Dursley veil had been found the next day on top of a rose bush in the park behind the churchyard. Dahlia and Geoffrey had got up early on the Sunday morning and combed the area in order to soothe the ruffled feelings of Edna Dursley. They had paid for it to be cleaned, wrapped it in tissue paper and returned it to Edna in case Marge would ever need it.   
  
When Petunia returned from her honeymoon, her mother had handed her a parchment note that had been pinned to the veil.  
  
 _‘Because a bride should look beautiful on her wedding day.  
Sirius Black xxx’_  
  
She had never made the connection between the handsome young man and the escaped convict. She had swept her memories of him to the back of her mind, and forced herself not to think of his lazy smile, the scent of his skin, and his irrepressible laugh as he tore off that hateful veil and sped away.   
  
But now, as she looks at the note, she is struck again at the curious coincidence of her saviour and James Potter’s smelly dog having exactly the same colour eyes.


End file.
